Restraining the Receptionist: ...the Receptionist, Book 2 Read online

  I stared at the key, all kinds of emotions running through me. “You mean, to rent?”

  “No, to own. You own it. Whether you like it or not. You can sell it, you can live in it, you can turn it into a crack house, whatever you want.” Simon smiled at my confusion. Own a house? He might as well have said, “this is a key to a rocket ship. Have a nice trip to the moon”.

  “And just so you know, luv, no one from that company has ever set foot in this house. They don’t even know its address. All records have been transferred to you.” Ethan shared a satisfied look with Simon. “We made sure they know they’re not welcome anywhere near here.”

  I clutched the key in my hand, where it warmed to my touch. My own home. Mine. For me. I could invite Simon or Ethan, or both, or just chill by myself. A huge smile spread over my face. I reached my other hand to Simon so he could help me up. I bounded to my feet, ridiculously energetic for a girl who’d spent the day in near-constant orgasmic bliss.

  “I love you both. Really. Truly. Even without the house. But this is…I never imagined…I love you!” I showered kisses onto their hands and faces. Ethan beamed at me. I’d never seen him look so content.

  Simon laughed at my enthusiasm. “And here I thought you’d be all over our tattoos. Their placement is deliberate, you know.”

  “I figured as much.” I reached down and traced his tat, then put my other hand on Ethan’s. “Your tattoo cherry’s been popped.”

  “Indeed,” said Ethan. “And let me tell you, prison was nothing compared to that pain.”

  “Oh, come on. Tattoos feel good.”

  “It’s a sensitive spot,” said Simon, pulling a puppy dog face. “You have no idea what we went through.”

  “Especially not knowing whether the namesake in our tattoos would reappear or not.”

  “You poor babies.” I caressed the two damp groins swelling under my fingertips. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “We have some ideas,” rumbled Ethan.

  “Of course you do.” My heart swelled at the thought of all the pleasure that still lay ahead of us.

  “But we’re a bit worried about how any work is going to get done here. It might become a distraction with you constantly thinking about what’s inside our trousers. You do become rather…overexcited.”

  “You’re so easily aroused,” complained Simon.

  “So deliciously teasable.” Ethan frowned.

  “On fire at a touch.”

  “Trouble with a capital H…”

  “…H, that stands for Highly Sensual.”

  “The point is, this firm still has a job to do,” finished Ethan sternly.

  With each phrase, the men treated my body to gentle strokes and pats, soothing me like a sweat-soaked racehorse ready to hit the track again. They knew me so well. Knew what I liked, the need that burned inside me. Knew my limits…and those areas where I had none. None at all.

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, which had tightened with treacherous new arousal.

  My two naked bosses, who treasured me enough to get my initials inked on their groins, cocked their heads at me. My heart did a triple somersault as I silently gave thanks to whatever god of jobseekers had led me to Cowell & Dirk.

  “I’ll just try to restrain myself,” I told them. “And if not…” I shivered.

  If not, they’d just have to restrain me.

  About the Author

  Juniper Bell lives in a cabin in Alaska with her husband and stepdaughter. She spends the long winters dreaming up erotic romances, shoveling snow, and concocting travel plans to warmer climates. To learn more about Juniper, please visit her website at www.JuniperBell.com. Send her an email at [email protected] or join her Yahoo! Newsletter group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/JuniperBell. You can also look her up on Facebook and find her on Twitter as @AuthorJuniper.

  Look for these titles by Juniper Bell

  Now Available:

  Doll

  …the Receptionist Series

  Training the Receptionist

  It’s her naughty dream job—if they’re satisfied with her performance…

  Training the Receptionist

  © 2010 Juniper Bell

  Eager to escape her miserable existence in Low-Life, Long Island, street-wise Dana Arthur jumps at an entry-level position with the consulting firm Cowell & Dirk. As her training period begins, she quickly discovers she’s required to do more than take messages and order office supplies. Her job description contains some deliciously naughty duties that give receptionist a whole new meaning.

  Simon has almost given up on finding the right woman who will please his clients as well as his demanding partner and mentor, Ethan Cowell. No one measures up—until Dana. Her inner fire and fearless nature are perfect for the job. No matter what wicked punishment he devises to chastise her for her on-the-job mistakes, she accepts with a relish that leaves him wondering which one of them is really in control.

  The last thing he expects to discover is that she’s a perfect sexual soul mate he can’t bear to share. But share he must—it’s part of his business agreement. Unless he makes Ethan the deal of a lifetime…

  Warning: This title contains explicit sex, bondage, ménage, ingenious use of office furniture, lingerie, and the occasional sex toy. Oh, and did I mention the package delivery guy?

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Training the Receptionist:

  I snatched the application and plopped myself into a leather chair. I didn’t have time for random idiocy, I needed a freakin’ job. Quickly, I filled in all the usual information.

  Dana Arthur. Age twenty-two. Previous experience: various crap jobs, some waitressing. Two-year degree from Long Island Community College. Strengths: motivated, hardworking, willing to do just about anything to move out of my house. (Okay, so I didn’t actually write down that last one.) It didn’t ask about weaknesses, but I don’t mind saying them. No tolerance for boredom, restless, problem with authority, a couple of hidden piercings and not-so-hidden tattoos, one or two DUIs. Or three.

  I attached my resumé to the application and handed it to Bizarro Girl. Showing absolutely no interest in it, she slid the papers into a manila folder and stood. Something flashed into my eyes, and I realized, after recovering my vision, that she’d taken a Polaroid of me. While I was still blinking, she popped it into the folder and left the room.

  Alone in the lobby of Cowell & Dirk, I seriously debated walking out right then and there. What kind of place took a Polaroid of you without so much as letting you get the McMuffin crumbs out of your teeth? But I let it go. For one thing, there was something very relaxing about that lobby. It was so quiet, like a super-secret, soundproofed vault. Not a single sound came in from outside. The colors were all bland and soothing. Beige carpet, black leather armchair and couch, blond wood receptionist’s desk. The overall look was what I would call Corporate Zombie. I could totally picture the people who worked there—pudgy-bodied, dull-eyed, combed-over drones in yellow ties and brown dress shoes. Every Friday they went out for after-work drinks at the nearest T.G.I. Friday’s. Mondays they spent the first few hours recounting their wild weekends, consisting of football games and blind dates who wouldn’t go down on them unless they paid for dinner.

  Shows what I know.

  When the door opened again, the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life came toward me. My nipples got hard the instant I set eyes on him.

  I still can’t put my finger on exactly what made him so hot. He was good-looking enough, with eyes like chips of green stone and black hair. Black Irish, I think that look is called. He had a rolling, in-charge kind of walk, as if he were walking onto the deck of his own personal pirate ship. The pirate comparison wasn’t half-bad, he even had a scar on his cheek, a thin, white crescent around his mouth.

  His mouth might have been the sexiest of all. Surrounded by a slight stubble, it curved in a way that implied I know you and I know what you like. He was the kind of man who looked like he h
ad a lot of secrets, secrets you might regret learning. The kind of man any normal mother would never allow anywhere near her daughter.

  But my mother was long gone, and I hadn’t listened to my stepmother from day one.

  “Ms. Arthur. Thanks for coming in.” Those eyes of his were mesmerizing. Half-hypnotized, I barely noticed he was patiently holding out his hand to shake mine.

  I got to my feet. But instead of shaking his hand, I stuck out my chin. “And you are?”

  “I’m Simon Dirk, Executive Vice President.”

  He could have said, “I’m the King of the World,” and I wouldn’t have argued. I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.” Was there some kind of extra electricity when our hands touched? I can’t be sure. I was too bewitched by his eyes. From closer range, they looked more forest than grass-green, more cool than hot. They were slightly narrowed. This man was taking me in. Assessing me. It made sense, of course, he was considering whether or not to hire me. But, in retrospect, I know he was assessing me for something else.

  He looked down at my application. “So, you’re interested in the receptionist job.”

  Something told me he wouldn’t mind a cheeky attitude. “Yes. It’s a lifelong goal.”

  Right away his gaze darted up to meet mine. He gave me a long, cool look. “Do you plan on greeting clients in that manner?”

  “Absolutely not. Clients will get my complete and undivided servitude.”

  “I see.” After another long look into my soul, he pulled my resumé from the folder and scanned it. “Interesting job history.”

  I couldn’t help a wince. “It’s a tough economy.”

  “Yes, but two months at The Lotus Circle? Six months at Chuck E. Cheese? U-Stuff Taxidermy?” He looked up from my resumé, the most endearing frown making a dent between his eyebrows. Oh, how I wanted to feel that crease in his flesh.

  “Only one month there.”

  “What do you have, Job Attention Deficit Disorder?” Those eyes sent me a sexy green sparkle.

  “Undiagnosed.”

  A smile tugged the corner of his mouth and I watched the scar retreat up his cheek. Without the scar, his face would have been almost too pretty. But the scar, and a bump on his nose that I knew meant it had once been broken, kept him on the rugged side of fucking gorgeous. And then there was the animalistic heat he gave off. Quite a feat, under his crisp business suit.

  “Well, Ms. Arthur, I have a feeling you’d fit in well here.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure that was a compliment, given the Corporate Zombie decor. “Thanks.”

  “Can you start on Monday?”

  “Uh…sure.” I inwardly danced a jig. Hired! At last! That meant I could skip my Monday appointment at the hospital to participate in a blood sugar experiment that would pay me fifty dollars. “But…silly question, I know, but what is it that Cowell & Dirk does?”

  “We’ll get to all that during the training period.” Simon Dirk frowned. Had I asked something inappropriate? “Oh, and we’d like you to wear this on your first day.” From behind the receptionist’s desk, he produced a white box with a fancy department store logo I didn’t recognize. “If, that is, you’re serious about working here.”

  What did I need to do to convince him? “I’m serious. It’s either that or sell my blood by the pint.”

  He chuckled. I hoped I would be answering to him personally.

  Little did I know how personally.

  One sub to please the Master…in any way he wishes.

  Hurt Me So Good

  © 2010 Joely Sue Burkhart

  Victor Connagher is no stranger to the Dallas BDSM scene. As CEO of a risqué cable channel that caters to adventurous adults, he ensures the lifestyle is portrayed in a positive light. He even supports a local bondage club. Yet behind the cool, confident mask, Victor lives in fear.

  Once, and only once, he lost control of his inner Dom—and it cost him his fiancée. Now, no one knows how hard he works to keep his darker appetite for pain buried. No matter how much his saucy, confident associate producer makes his fingers itch to once again take up his riding crop.

  Shiloh Holmes is a sub, but she’s no doormat. She’s always suspected Victor has the skills to feed her insatiable need for pain, and now she’s found the perfect way to crack his formidable control. Develop a new reality show, America’s Next Top sub…and dare him to compete.

  Week after week, as Shiloh fearlessly challenges the real Victor to come out of hiding, he realizes his past mistake was only a blow to his pride. If he loses Shiloh, he could lose his heart.

  Warning: Explicit sex, BDSM, reality television, a very reluctant Dom, an audacious sub willing to do anything to win for him, and one very wicked riding crop.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Hurt Me So Good:

  “It’s a BDSM show.” Shiloh let a sultry smile curve her lips, but she didn’t look directly at him. She didn’t trust herself not to plop down into his lap. “If we set up the correct challenges, everyone will go home extremely happy regardless of who wins.”

  He checked his watch, warning that his patience was almost gone. “Either this is a reality show or it’s not. There has to be a winner, and I won’t stand for cheating among my own employees.”

  “It’s a dual competition.” Shiloh fought not to blurt out her response in a desperation plea. “We’ll have submissives competing to win the Dominants’ favor, but also a single Dominant could win the title of Master, if he selects the correct submissive to win it all.”

  Ms. Kannes laughed. “By God, Victor, it’s brilliant. I could compete as one of the Dominants, with my submissive as one of the contestants. Patrick could compete too, and that would give us another two or three submissives, depending on who’s in his stable right now. If we can get another couple from Silken, then we’d have an interesting mix of newbies and experienced players. The experienced ones would be teaching the rest, as well as having a little friendly competition among us all.”

  Frowning, Mr. Connagher shook his head. “There’s not going to be much drama between you and Patrick. You’re too evenly matched and know each other too well.”

  Shiloh let out her breath and took a step closer to him, waiting until his gaze swung to her. “That’s why you should compete, sir.”

  His eyes narrowed to slits, his mouth flattened into a hard slant, and his shoulders squared, chest broad and muscular in a universal signal of male dominance that his suit couldn’t conceal.

  Her heart froze a moment and then exploded into a rapid, thunderous pace that made her ears roar. He didn’t refuse outright, though, which gave her the courage to continue. “The show needs a Master with a capital M. Someone who’ll really bring the competition to a peak. Based on our demographics, it should be a male, and preferably, his submissive should be female. It will be even more exciting if he’s unattached, so the unowned submissives all feel like they have a chance of winning his attention. The ultimate prize, then, will be the Master’s collar, not money like the typical reality show.”

  Evidently he didn’t like that idea at all. Silence stretched out, painful and heavy, his midnight eyes locked on her. Her mouth went dry and her heart hammered, but she stood her ground without blinking or flinching in the wake of his intensity. She didn’t even dare breathe.

  “You presume, then, that I’m not only a Dominant, but also a man who’d be interested in a giggling, immature submissive who’s incapable of any sort of serious play.” He blew out his breath in a low snort and turned to the other woman. “As though I’d give my collar to someone just because they thought they’d won a show that we set up from the very beginning.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Shiloh squeezed her hands together so hard she felt her nails digging into her skin. She fought to hide the fierce elation burning through her. He might be dismissive, but she’d been right all along. He did have a collar, he was Dominant, and if she played this right, it’d be impossible for him to back out. The competitor in him demanded excell
ence in all things, even a reality show.

  Feigning indifference, she shrugged and turned away from the table. “Then perhaps you can recommend another Master.”

  Shuffling through her carefully researched boards, she moved the most important one to the front. Her best friend and roommate—who just happened to be a graphic design artist—had helped with the artwork. A masked man stood on a dais, dressed like an English riding master with a wicked-looking whip in his right hand. Despite the costume, the man bore a marked resemblance to VCONN’s CEO.

  Contestants knelt in an arc before him, all in submissive positions, head down, some stretched out prostrate before him. Two others stood on the steps to the dais but lower than him, a man and woman, also in Victorian riding wear. Despite their higher position than the contestants, they inclined their heads to the man above.

  In bold letters across the top, the board read: One Master to rule them all.

  “V,” Ms. Kannes breathed out, her eyes bright. “You’re perfect!”

  “I don’t want to do it.” Yet he stared at the board, his right hand opening and closing into a fist, as though he ached to reach out and grab that whip. “There’s no way in hell I’m unleashing that side of me on a bunch of—”

  Shiloh pulled out the next storyboard and his voice fell off. In this sketch, a woman knelt at the Master’s feet and leaned against his legs. One hand was wrapped around his thigh; her other fisted in his shirt as though she was trying to climb his body. Her face was pressed against him with her hair pulled aside to bare her back. Long red stripes marked her skin and the Master’s whip curled around her vulnerable body with the heading: One sub to please the Master—in any way he wishes.

  He ground out, “It’s all wrong.”

  Shiloh’s heart plummeted and her shoulders slumped with defeat. She’d gambled everything on this show. If he didn’t like it, then she’d totally misunderstood every single signal she’d picked up from him. She’d even had her friend stylize the winner after her, a deliberate message to him, if only he were paying attention.